"By the way," he inquired casually, "has your insurance company offered any reward for the recovery of your iridium?"
"Ten per cent of the value of the amount recovered, I believe." Uttershaw's glance was mildly interrogative in turn. "Is that the motive of your interest?"
"Partly," said the Saint with a slight smile. "But only partly."
He speared a fat young clam from its shell, dunked it in cocktail sauce, and savored its delicate succulence with unmitigated relish.
Uttershaw went through the same motions, but he went on looking at the Saint with a directness that contrived to be quite undisconcerting.
"I didn't miss your exit line last night," he said. "How much did the Linnet sing?"
"A little less than enough," Simon said warily. "You heard about him?"
"I read a morning paper."
"What did you think?"
Uttershaw hunched his shoulders faintly as he went for another clam.